


If My Anguish Could Be Weighted and All My Misery Placed on Scales

by nachomomma



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Blood, Brief mention of self-harm, F/M, Masochism, Pain, Porn With Plot, Sadism, Spanking, businessman kylo, coffee shop meet cute, dom!rey, improper use of bible quotes, kylo likes his ass kicked, maybe more porn than plot, pain parlor meet cute, rey is happy to kick his ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachomomma/pseuds/nachomomma
Summary: Kylo is a stressed out business exec, Rey specializes in “stress relief.”





	1. Chapter 1

**“...where even the light is like darkness.” -Job 10:22**

 

“Welcome back, 1119.”

The tall pale man in the dark suit merely gives a grunt in response as he types his password into the tablet the blonde woman behind the window has placed in front of him. Gun to his head, he couldn’t utter her name even though he’s seen her dozens of times.

Discretion is a number one priority at The Facility.

Housed in a nondescript office building on the industrial side of town, the business caters to “specific needs.” In the equally nondescript waiting room, half a dozen people of all different backgrounds (and all avoiding eye contact) wait for their “needs” to be fulfilled.

He’s early for his appointment. And after the hellish day he’s had— the failure of his project, a dressing down from his asshole boss as his least favorite colleague looked on with a sneer—he _needs_ this. Luckily, _she_ had an opening. After work he had sped across town, pedal to the floor, a white-knuckled grip on the wheel. By the grace of some deity he had long ago written off, he made the trip without getting pulled over or committing vehicular manslaughter. 

“You’re early today,” the nameless receptionist observes, sticking a pen into one of the buns that adorn each side of her head. “Have a seat. I’ll call you when she’s ready.”

Have a seat? _Have a seat?!?_ He runs a had frantically through his dark hair. Can’t she see he’s in no condition to take a _fucking_ seat? In fact, the only way he’ll take a seat is by throwing one against the wall.

He’s gotta get back there. 

The door buzzes open and he he seizes his chance, frantically pushing past the man walking out, ignoring the receptionist’s lamentations as he stalks down the hallway. He could find the way blindfolded; one flight up the stairs, two rights and then a left, three doors down, 410, the red door with the silver knocker.

Without hesitation, he swings the door open wide to find his salvation...

..is eating ramen noodles?

Time seems to freeze as they stare at each other. He’s seen her several times before but never this...casual. She’s sitting at a table dressed in barely-there shorts and a concert t-shirt for a band he’s never heard of, her face clean of make-up and brunette hair pulled back into a messy bun. His sudden entrance has left her as equally stunned, a forkful of noodles suspended mere centimeters from her mouth.

She reacts first, slamming her fork down into the cup on the table so hard it nearly startles him. 

“Did your mother never teach you to knock before entering a room?” She spits through bared teeth.

“I—I’m sorry I...”

With a wave of her hand, she cuts him off, glaring at him narrowly. “You’re twenty minutes early,” she states, with a nod toward the clock on the wall. “You’re interrupting _my_ time.”

_Fuck_ , he thinks. _I’ve fucked up. She’s going to send me away, and I’ll never be allowed back. Fuck._

His large frame occupies the doorway as he braces for her to throw the soup at his head, spitting obscenities as she chases him out the door. But she doesn’t. She merely stuffs the noodle ladened fork in her mouth and continues to eat.

For one of the very few times in his life, he’s at a loss of what to do. His hand begins to sweat from gripping the door knob as he awkwardly watches her eat.

“Well don’t just stand there,” she orders before throwing back the contents of her styrofoam cup in one gulp. “Close the door. Get undressed.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he hastily complies. He shuts the and removes his jacket less than gracefully. The blasted thing comes off inside out. _Fuck_ , he internally screams. He’s a fucking mess and none of this is going the way he hoped.

Meanwhile, he can feel her watching. The heat of her stare is enough to strike him stupid, rendering him embarrassingly unable to complete even the simple task of managing the buttons on his shirt. 

“Stop.”

Suddenly, she’s right next to him, those hazel eyes gazing up into his face. His fingers still. Taking both of his hands in hers (so strange that such small things could hold such power over him) she lowers them slowly to his sides.

“I’ll help you.”

His heart palpitates as her deft, crimson-tipped fingers loosen his tie with ease. Buttons quickly unfastened as she pulls his shirt open with a flourish. She gazes upon his chest, a hum passing her lips as she traces a scar that runs from his clavicle down to his navel.

“Admiring your handiwork?”

“Might I remind you that it was not my idea,” she chides. “I only complied once you were informed of the dangers and possible ramifications.” Her lips purse as she traces a finger across his belt line. “But it did leave a lovely mark.”

He stifles a moan while she traces a finger along his waistline until she reaches his belt buckle. Looking up, she meets his eyes, a slight smirk forming at the corners of her mouth.

“You can take off your own pants.”

He can feel heat flush his face as she turns to walk down the hallway. Somehow she always knows exactly how to push his buttons.

“I’m going to freshen up. Be in the position when I get back.”

It’s less of a request than an ultimatum, and he sheds his clothes swiftly, stripping down to his boxer briefs. After hanging his suit neatly on the back of the dining room chair, he assumes his position on the end of the bed. The room itself, he has long decided, is a cleverly converted set of offices renovated to resemble a loft apartment. A small kitchenette flows openly into a bedroom setup with a queen-sized mattress made with only a fitted sheet. A chest of drawers off to the side holds her “implements.” He rubs his neck wondering what tools she’ll use in her work today.

So now he waits, knees bobbing up and down in nervous anticipation. It’s a keen contrast to who he is in his “normal” life—the ruthless, fire-breathing executive of a cutthroat company who rules with a mandate composed of fear and intimidation. Grown men who fail him have been reduced to tears, board rooms have been ripped apart in his fits of anger.

At least, until recent months.

Whispers at the proverbial office water cooler assumed that he’d been forced into therapy or anger management. Which was completely true—he was a lawsuit just waiting to explode. But even  the talk therapy and the prescriptions didn’t do much in terms of taking the edge off his anger.

Only this—no—only _she_ had.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, he hears the approach of her soft steps coming from the darkened hallway. She turns the corner.

Her outfit is simple and always the same; black leggings with a black halter top accentuating every curve, lips painted dark crimson, hair pulled back into a tight bun, a sly smile on her face. His breath hitches when he sees her. Every time.

Every goddamn time. 

Does she know what she does to him?

Does she feel it, too?

“Bad day, huh?” The padding of her feet seems to echo throughout the room with each slow step she takes towards him. “Far from your worst, though. We’ve done this enough times—I can tell the difference.”

Without warning, she’s grabbing his chin, pulling it up roughly to face her. “But that doesn’t excuse your poor behavior, does it?”

“No,” he rasps, voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t.”

“That’s right,” she smiles, dropping her grasp as she steps back, her eyes darkening.

“Lie on the bed,” she orders. “Face down.”

He complies while she sticks a hand underneath the mattress, pulling out a cuff restraint. With expert ease, she latches it around his wrist, testing the tightness before pulling his arm taut against the mattress. The rest of his limbs follow suit until he’s tied down, spread eagle and completely vulnerable.

The mattress dips as she climbs on the bed and, to his sudden surprise, mounts his back. He looks back, quizzically, but she gently pushes his head back down and starts massaging his shoulders.

“You’re tense,” she states matter of factly. “If you’re like this the entire time, it’s just going to hurt worse.”

“I thought pain was the poin—OW!” A hard pinch to his underarm reminds him who is in charge here.

“I’ve actually trained to be a masseuse. Got my license and everything.” 

She pauses ever so slightly. It’s a rarity that she ever lets any insight into who she really is outside these walls, outside of what they do here. He waits with bated breath, hoping that she’ll expand upon her statement, and he’ll finally learn more about who she really is.

“Don’t worry.” She places a hand firmly on each side of his spine, pushing with her palms and moving in an upward motion until her chest is flush with his back and her mouth is next to his ear. “There’s no happy ending for you.”

The sensation of her breasts against his bare back nearly short circuits his brain, but then her fingers replace them, and he’s immediately on another plane of existence. The soporific influence of her hands as they stroke, knead and caress every ounce the stress from his muscles lulls him into a state of relaxation he hasn’t felt in years.

Seemingly satisfied with her work, she lets out a sigh of contentment and he feels her weight shift from his back to between his legs.

Gripping the waistband of his boxer briefs, she pulls them down slowly. Her fingernails drag across his skin and he can’t help but squirm at the sensation.

“My perfect canvas,” she mutters, breath hot on his bare ass as she takes a handful of his cheek, playfully squeezing and releasing before giving it a nice firm smack. He winces at the sudden sting.

“You need this,” she muses before giving another hard slap. “Most people who come to me? They just want it. But not you.”

She lets loose a barrage of hits, assaulting him over and over again as he grits his teeth through the pangs of burning pain.

“There’s no shame in needing,” she coos, rubbing him in an almost soothing motion. But he knows better than to think that’s it. This is just the warm-up, The opening act. 

He turns his head to follow her movements as she slides off the end of the bed and waltzes over the the chest of drawer. 

“Uh uh,” she chides, motioning with her finger for him to turn his head. “No peeking.”

“Hmm,” she meditates over the drawer, rustling through its contents. “Wood or leather? Eeny meany miney...”

A sharp snap vibrates through the air. Clearly, she’s chosen the strap.

“Don’t worry. I know what you need.”

Hide meets hide with a burning thwack. The first strike usually makes him recoil, but being tied down leaves him no respite. He simply has to take the full brunt of her force.

Usually there’s a pause between strikes, time that is filled with snide remarks and subtle flirtation. But not today. She’s relentless in her assault.

And he’s right on the precipice, gripping at the sheet, twisting the fabric in his fists

“You’re still holding on!” The strap whips through the air before landing with a sickening crack. “Let go!”

“More,” he gasps. It’s an anguished plea pulled from somewhere deep inside him. A desperate prayer. “ _More_.”

There’s a millisecond of hesitation, but she acquiesces, growling with aggression as she hits him over and over and over again.

Finally the strap flays his skin with a sickening squelching sound, and a guttural scream erupts from his throat

“Yes, let it out,” she pants. “Let it all out for me.”

At last, the levee breaks. His wails echo throughout the room, all the stress and frustration pouring out through his tears. He’s completely broken. Screaming until he’s hoarse and left spent, sniveling and sobbing. Then, and only then, does she stop.

“You did good,” she says quietly, voice barely above a whisper as she pushes damp hair from his face. The sobs subside and he opens his eyes to see her. Only her. She’s a light in the darkness. A beautiful vision of formidability, sweat sheened with his blood splattered across her face. 

Riding the high of adrenaline and endorphins, he longs to express his gratitude, but he’s dropped harder than ever before. Speech is nearly impossible, moving his limbs even less so. But he’s never felt more at peace.

He watches intently as she quietly gathers up towels and other necessities to tend to his wounds. Walking around the bed, she releases his restraints, taking care to make sure he wasn’t inadvertently injured while thrashing around.

“This is going to sting,” she apologizes, as she takes a warm towel to his wounds. As though she had no part in the prior damage.

Seemingly satisfied, she sits on the mattress next to him, hands sifting through his hair.

Suddenly touch-starved, he grasps for her, pulling her close to nuzzle his face against her chest.

She completely owns every single part of him.

And he doesn’t even know her real name.

Her hand cups his face, hazel eyes searching his features. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” he croaks, closing his eyes. “Just you.”

 

* * *

 

 

She lets him sleep, snoring softly in her lap, his long, lanky body sprawled out on top of her. Tears and snot cake her shirt, but she pays it no notice. It is long past the time she’d usually kick her other clients out. “Don’t get attached, 410,” she can practically hear her boss droll, smoothing back her short blonde hair before throwing an icy, blue-eyed stare toward her underling. “Any outside fraternization with the clientele is strictly forbidden.”

But she won’t deny the truth of the matter:

she’s fond of him, the way he breaks so beautifully. She can’t even really feel angry about how he practically busted down her door earlier. In fact, she even found it rather endearing, the sight of him flustered and frantic. Needy.

She finally rouses him when her leg begins to fall asleep. His big brown eyes look up at her with such reverence, causing a flood of warmth to pool in her belly. It takes every ounce of professional decorum not to take advantage and pull him to her, crushing his soft lips in a crushing kiss, imploring him worship her fully and completely. The way he wants to. The way she deserves.

Instead, she helps him dress, suppressing a smile as he winces at the clothing coming into contact with her freshly made marks.

He lingers momentarily in the doorway, looking as though he longs to say something more. Words have never been his forte, she’s come to learn, so she simply bids him an “Until next time,” as she closes the door.

Fucking company protocol, she sighs as she flops onto the mattress. 

But certainly there’s no harm in imagining she thinks idly as she slides a hand down, the front of her leggings. Fantasizing isn’t against company policy. No harm in wondering what it would be like if they were just two people out there in the world, who met somewhat normally and not under the pretense of a contractual obligation. She dips two fingers to swirl her warm wetness, allowing her mind’s eye to conjure up the image of a potential date night; he’d show up with flowers, wine and dine her. As a reward, she’d take him home, strip him of every stitch of clothing before scratching her nails down his back, leaving streaks of red on his porcelain skin. Marking him as her own.

He’d gaze upon her, pupils blown black with desire as he’d whisper her name over and over like an invocation.

“Rey.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Kylo Ren met Rey and how Rey met Ben Solo. 
> 
> (Mind the tags)

**“...stretch out your hand and strike his flesh and bones, and he will surely curse you to your face” Job 1:11**

 

Blood drips into the basin of the porcelain sink, mixing with the running water. 

“Shit,” the tall, bleeding man mutters to himself as he runs his injured hand under the tap. “Could this night get any fucking worse?”

The door to the restroom suddenly kicks open.

“Ben Solo!”

_Spoke too soon_ ,he frowns at his reflection.

Glancing sideways, he sees the familiar face of his childhood quasi-friend, Poe Dameron. Like himself, the man is decked out in a tux for the ongoing gala outside. Unlike himself, Poe’s eyes are glassy with drink and he wears a cheshire cat smile. He saunters right up to taller man and slaps him on the back.

“Hey, buddy! Why so taciturn? That was on my word-of-the-day calendar. I’m surprised your face wasn’t right there next to the definition.” As he chuckles, his eyes move to the red-tinged water and then dart up to the bleeding hand. “Ow! That looks like it hurts. You should be more careful, Ben.”

“My name’s not Ben anymore, it’s...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Kylo Ren.’” He mimes air quotes as he speaks the name while simultaneously rolling his eyes. “Big scary name to go with your big scary job at your big scary company. _Pbbbt!_ ” Spittle showers the bathroom mirror as he drunkenly blows a raspberry. “You’ll always be Ben Solo. That’s who you are, deep down under this ruthless asshole mask.”

Kylo waves off his attempt to extort him with compassion. He’s happy with his job, with his position, with his boss who gaslights him  so badly during a company function that he grips his glass of wine so hard he crushes it to shards in his hand. So. Fucking. Happy.

_Fuck_.

“Dameron,” he redirects, “why are you even here? This is a First Order function. Only employees are invited.”

“Aaaannnddd their dates!” He wiggles his eyebrows wolfishly as he checks his hair in the mirror. “Wanna guess who I’m with? Cmon! Guess!” He leans back against the sink, crossing his arms. “Ok, ok. I’ll give you two hints: One, he always looks like he’s smelled something rancid, and..”

“Fuck, Poe! You came with Hux??” He blinks in disbelief. “Hux? _Armitage_ Hux?!?”

“What can I say? I got a thing for redheads. By the by,” he grins, “the carpet does match the drapes.”

He gives Kylo a wink, and the harried executive feels the bile rising in his throat. He swallows hard, refusing to be both bleeding and vomiting.

“Ben. _Ben_. Benny boy,” Poe slurs, sliding an arm over Kylo’s shoulder. “I can see your eye twitching. You need to chill out or you’re either gonna have a stroke before you’re 40 or you’re gonna punch your boss square through his wrinkly, old, stupid face. And while I would pay very good money to see that—I mean, it would be like one of those asteroid hitting the earth simulations, just _BOOM!_ ” He claps his fist into his open palm for emphasis. “And then dust for miles! Oh, it would be great.” He chortles at the thought before becoming deeply solemn. “But then you would go to jail because you killed a guy. And Leia would be upset.”

Kylo flinches at the mention of his mother, Leia Organa, benevolent but steely CEO of Skywalker, Inc.—and his former employer. They hadn’t spoke since his resignation had crossed her desk two years ago. Words hadn’t even been exchanged between them; her worried furrowed brow and the disappointment in her eyes spoke loud enough.

“Dameron,” he warns through gritted teeth.

“I don’t like it when my boss is upset,” Poe continues, ignoring the scowl on Kylo’s face. “That’s why I’m going to _help_ you.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a clear business card. Embossed in silver letters are the words “The Facilty” with a web address composed of jumbled letters directly underneath.

“What’s this for, a therapist?” Kylo scoffs. “I’m already seeing someone, thanks.”

He hands Poe back the card, but he just slides it into Kylo’s jacket pocket. “Trust me, Ben. I know you. We grew up together. Visit the website. The code is my birthday, 0309.” He steps back slowly toward the exit. “If what you see interests you, great! If not, well...” He sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets before looking up at Kylo sadly. “I’ll come visit you in prison...or the nursing home. Whichever comes first.”

With a salute, he slips through the exit. Kylo sighs, relieved to be alone once again in his misery. Turning off the tap, he watches as the blood tinged water swirls down the drain. He’d like nothing more than to escape through the pipes as well, but he’s already been gone for far too long. 

Holding up his hand, he inspects the damage. Stitches won’t be needed, so he wraps his hand in paper towel and stuffs it in his pocket, where it stays for the remainder of the evening. If anyone notices through all the pomp and circumstance of the evening they don’t mention it, and he spends the rest of the gala wining and dining investors fawning over the fact that the Skywalker heir has defected to the First Order.

Every so often, usually when Snoke is sneering something at him, he gives his fist a squeeze, fingers digging into the wound, pain radiating throughout his hand. 

 

It’s well past midnight when Kylo finally walks through the door to his penthouse apartment high above the city. He paces the hardwood floor of the living room, shedding his layers of clothing, throwing them in the direction of the bedroom to land where they will. Rage flows through his veins, and he itches to punch, break or destroy something. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a long, cleansing breath while counting to ten. He gazes down at his injured left hand and decides enough damage has been done for one night.

Maybe anger management was good for something after all.

He breaks out the first aid kit, dumping the contents onto the bathroom counter. The burn of the hydrogen peroxide in the cut makes him to seethe with pain.

Out of nowhere, a long-forgotten memory floats to the front of his consciousness of his father, Han Solo. 

_“Two fingers of Jim Beam and a couple of aspirin, Ben.” He popped the pills in his mouth and threw back the liquid with a grimace before tousling his son’s hair. “That’s the number one cure for whatever ails ya.”_

It nearly knocks the wind right out of him. He hasn’t thought of his father since— _no_. He winces, pushing that memory back down into the abyss, careful not to be dragged down with it. He can’t handle more ghosts of Ben Solo’s life. Not tonight.

With his hand finally wrapped in gauze, he clumsily shakes two aspirin out of the bottle. Resolving to leave the mess in the bathroom until morning, he pads into the kitchen with pills in hand. Grabbing a glass, he goes to turn on the faucet, but hesitates. Instead, he reaches into the recesses of an upper cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. The liquor burns like fire in his throat as he swallows the pills down, and he pours another for good measure. 

The amber liquid swirls in the glass as he stalks through his home. Home. He chuckles at the thought. Home implies comfort and warmth, neither of which could be found in his very expensive apartment. Most of his waking hours are spent working. This place isn’t used for much more than sleeping. _Well_ , he corrects as he takes another swing of alcohol, _sleeping and drinking half-naked._

His glass now empty, he retires to his room. Sitting on the bed, he runs his good hand through his hair in frustration. Alcohol or not, there’s no way he’s getting to sleep. “Poe’s probably right,” he muses to himself. “I’m going to stroke out before 40.”

_Poe_.

Pushing off the bed, he stalks over to the crumpled pile of clothing. He pulls the card Dameron slipped into his jacket pocket, turning it between his fingers thoughtfully. A smear of blood has dried on the embossing. 

With a deep sigh, he staggers back to the bed, collapsing into the pillows. He grabs his laptop from the nightstand, opens it and begins typing.

 

* * *

 

Rey is having a good day.

Although she was full on in the throes of exams week, she had woken up that morning feeling rested and ready. Fully prepared for whatever life was going to throw at her. Rose, her roommate, had already departed for her internship, but she left a good luck note on the kitchen table along with a muffin. Rey took a deep sniff of the baked good. Ah, banana nut. Her favorite. 

With hair toweled up into a turban, she meditated upon her closet. Since they were on the cusp of summer, she decided on a whispy bluish grey maxi dress. The fabric would flow behind her in such a way that she felt like a powerful medieval royal stalking the city streets. She paired it with a light hoodie to protect from the wind. With sensible shoes, her tried and true Chucks, of course.

Her 10:15 train actually arrived at 10:15 and there were no manspreaders in sight. Hardly anyone, in fact, so she actually got a window seat instead of being forced to stand the entire commute. There was even enough room to sit her bag in the seat next to her instead of in her lap.

Ten minutes before she arrived at her class, her phone rang out a notification; the professor had a family emergency, so the final would be online and open book. 

Turning heel, grinning from ear to ear, she practically skipped up the sidewalk. No class meant she could make use of the free wifi at her favorite coffee shop, sipping some sweet, icy goodness while she aced the online test.

Yes, Rey was having a very good day. (Actually, she was considering upgrading it to the rare tier of “great.”)

Cheerful chimes ring out as she pushes through the cafe door—and she stops dead in her tracks. 

There at the counter, placing an order is a terribly tall man, with dark hair. He turns his head, face just going into profile. It’s a face she’d know anywhere.

She ducks behind a woman. Her heart is racing a mile a minute. The carefree attitude of mere moments ago has dissipated. 

_Fuck. Of all the coffee shops in the world, he walks into this one._

Maybe she should turn and make a run for it. No. This isn’t high school. She is an adult, damnit, and if he notices her, she’s going to face him, just like an adult would.

And totally pretend she has no idea who he is.

Besides, it’s probably not him. Most likely. Maybe.

She keeps her eyes intently focused on the back of the customer in front of her, a woman trying in vain to explain “cold hot chocolate” to the barista. But her gaze wanders slightly, just enough to see him in her periphery. 

Yup, it’s him all right. From the sharp angles of his pale face to his dark wavy hair to those insanely large hands. The very same hands she had imagined doing unspeakable things to her the night before. _Fuck_.

She pulls her phone from her bag and feigns a phone call, angling her head opposite his direction. If he doesn’t see her, nothing has to change.

“Cold hot chocolate” lady finally makes her payment, and Rey is able to quietly relay her order to the frazzled cashier. 

She breathes an internal sigh of relief as she sticks her phone back in her bag. He’ll be long gone by the time my drink is up, she thinks as she turns to walk to the pick up counter.

Only to run headfirst into a brick wall.

A brick wall wearing clothes?

No, it’s merely the very firm chest of a man in a very expensive suit. A waft of familiar cologne floods her senses. She suddenly realizes exactly who she has run into.

_Shit. Damn. Fuck._

“Sorry, sorry,” she mutters, dropping her hands and ducking her head as she moves past him, avoiding eye contact. She tries to play it off like it’s an average accidental run-in with a complete stranger who was totally not the subject of her recent masturbatory fantasies.

“Are you ok?”

He’s still there, coffee in hand, looking at her with concern. She watches in quiet horror as he takes in her face, eyes widening in recognition.

Damn. She’s been made.

“No worries.” She tries to wave it off like nothing. But he lingers in the same spot, staring.

“I’m sorry,” he blinks. “You look exactly like someone I know...”

“I get that a lot,” she chuckles. “What does your friend do?”

He takes a beat, carefully considering his answer. “She has a very specific set of skills?” She raises her eyebrows at the mischievous glint in his eye. If it’s a game he wants to play, she’s more than happy to oblige.

“Ah,” she nods, “a Liam Nesson type. Sounds exciting.”

“I certainly find it thrilling.” 

She meets his gaze, his intense stare regarding her with such a reverence that she’s not quite sure if she wants to run away or climb him like a tree. A sense of panic blooms in her chest. She needs to end this. Now.

“Oh,” she responds. “What’s her name?”

He balks. Of course he doesn’t know her name. Now maybe he’ll get the hint and just—

“Rey?”

Drat.

“Rey? Skinny carmel macchiato, extra whip, extra carmel? Rey?” The barista holds the beverage out, giant letters basically screaming out her name on the side of the cup.

A slight smirk begins to form at the corner of his mouth. She inhales sharply through her nose, nostrils flaring. Time to admit defeat. “Yes, yes. I’m Rey. That’s me, bloody hell.”

She grabs the coffee, nearly taking the barista’s arm with it. Turning sharply, she pokes a finger into her conversation partner’s chest, hard.

“Table. Sit. _Now_.”

 

* * *

 

It’s 9 am on a Saturday morning, and Kylo Ren finds himself sitting in a windowless room second guessing every decision that has led up to this “interview.”

Finger tapping on the steel surface a table, he takes inventory of his surroundings. The walls are painted off white and are empty, save for a mirror that he’s about 97.6% certain is of the the two-way variety. The whole set-up feels less like an interview and more like an interrogation.

Suddenly, the door opens with a loud click, causing Kylo to jump up out of his chair. A woman walks in, and the energy of the room seems to shift. Her brown eyes fix him to the spot as she closes the door quietly behind her.

He cannot help but stare at the figure before him. She’s dressed all in black; tight leggings paired with a plunging halter top that exposes an generous expanse of skin, brunette hair is pulled into a neat bun while her mouth is painted a deep crimson red. 

It feels like all the air has been pulled from his lungs. She is quite simply the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

They stand there considering each other in deafening silence for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Kylo can bear it no longer. “Who talks first? Do I talk first?” The words practically vomit out of his mouth. 

She squints at him, head cocked slightly to the side, mouth in a stern red line. She narrows her gaze and he feels uncomfortably exposed, the entirety of himself laid bare for her to see.

“You are _terribly_ tall,” she finally says, eyeing him skeptically. He frowns at the way she exaggerates ‘terribly.’ And he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to have six syllables.

He opens his mouth to retort, but she drops a rather thick file folder onto the table with a thud.

“Please,” she gestures to his chair. “Sit.”

The screech of the metal chair against concrete fills the room as he tries in vain to ignore the bounce of her breasts as she scoots up to the table. He quickly averts his eyes instead to the woman’s face and she gives him a knowing glance. She saw him looking. A burning heat blooms across his cheeks as she licks a finger to leaf through the file. 

“We were matched per the personality profile you submitted upon your application.”

His brow furrows at this information. “Seriously?”

The woman arches an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?” 

“No, it’s just, uh. I guess I was expecting...someone taller?”

She shrugs. “They say the best things come in small packages.” A saccharine sweet smile comes across her face and suddenly Kylo’s mouth feels extremely dry.

“Let me cut to the chase and give you the usual spiel.” 

“People come in here all the time, expecting some 50 Shades of Grey bullshit. That is fiction. This? This is a _business_. We cater to a certain percentage of the population looking to pay good money to get their needs fulfilled discreetly.”

“Any preconceived notions you have from any shitty mediocre movie or porn? I need you to check them at the door. And if you feel like you can’t, like this isn’t what you were expecting, well, there’s the door.”

“That’s—that’s not what I’m here for,” he stammers.

“What exactly are you here for?”

“I...” What is it about this woman that turns him into a stuttering buffoon?  _Get it the fuck together, Kylo._ “I like pain.”

All at once, it just all comes spilling out of him, things he’s never uttered to another living soul outside of therapy. It’s everything he’s ever felt ashamed or embarrassed about. The thing he hates most about himself.

“When I was younger, just a boy, I fell. Scraped my knee pretty bad. I didn’t cry.” He looks down focusing intently on the table in front of him. “I had never felt anything like it. I liked the sting, the burn. It made he feel—so good.” 

“So I did it again,” he continues, eyes fixed on the tabletop. “Fell off my bike, throw my fist into a wall. Just so I could feel it. I was fascinated by bruises, the colorations. It’s not self-harm.” He blinks thoughtfully. “Well, saying it out loud makes it kind of sound like self-harm. I guess my therapist was right.” 

Swallowing what little pride he has left, he lifts his eyes to the woman, expecting her to look aghast. On the contrary, she appears to be fascinated.

“Hmm,” she muses, holding her chin her hand, finger tracing her lip thoughtfully. “Yes, I think I could work with this.”

Sitting back in her seat, she flips further through the file folder.

“Let’s go over some of the ground rules, shall we?”

“If we happen to see each other in a public setting, we will not engage if at all possible. Fraternization between employees and clientele is strictly forbidden and grounds for termination of the contract.”

“Most importantly, I am not here for your sexual gratification. If that’s what you’re after, we have plenty of other employees more than willing to participate.”

His lips roll into a frown. “I told you, I’m really not—“

“Do _not_ interrupt me until I have finished talking.”

Her firm tone and narrow glance stuns him into silence. No one ever talks to him like this. He strikes fear into the heart of his subordinates, grown men tremble in his wake. But there’s something about this woman that subdues him. He realizes it is because she has no fear of him

Because he has no power here.

“As I was saying I don’t want to see your penis outside of a scene. No ‘accidental’ dick slips. If you have to ejaculate, neither my body or my face are options. If you cum, you cum in your hand, understood?”

He gives a curt nod, incredibly embarrassed on behalf of his gender.

“And lastly, I will never, _ever_ fuck you. Do I make myself clear?”

He nods curtly. “Crystal.”

 

* * *

 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” 

They’re sitting in the back of the cafe, semi-secluded amongst bookshelves filled with various shiny knickknacks and decorative flowing vines. Rey is irritated, partly because her frappe is starting to melt and mostly because of the man sitting across from her, his massive frame folded into the tiny bistro chair. And he doesn’t look bothered by the situation at all. In fact, he seems rather amused.

“I should ask the same of you,” he quips. “Skinny with extra whip and carmel? Doesn’t that kind of negate the point?”

There’s a teasing tone in his voice. She’s not used to seeing him this way. He seems so self-assured, so confident.  While she, on the other hand, is a flustered cluster-fuck of emotions. 

“Don’t change the subject,” she retorts. “This can’t happen. This shouldn’t be happening.”

“And yet, here we are.” He chuckles. “It’s different to see you all flustered. That’s usually my MO.”

So what, he’s a mind reader now? The sharp shrill of steam from the espresso maker echoes throughout the cafe as Rey lets out a sigh of defeat.

“Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”

“I’m sorry—you literally ran into me. Besides,” he raises his cup to take a drink, “who has to know?”

Her lip curls in annoyance. What an entitled asshole thing to say. It’s not like _his_ livelihood and means of surviving in the world is threatened at all by their off-limits interaction.

Impulsively, she grabs his cup, inspecting the inscription on the side. It’s only fair. He knows her name, and now she knows that he is—

“Kyle Ron?” 

“They never get the name fucking right,” he mumbles. “It’s actually Kylo Ren.”

“Ah. Must have been hard growing up with a moniker like that.”

“It’s not my real name.”

She frowns and slides the cup back to him. “A fake name. I should have thought of that.”

“It’s...it’s not a fake name.” 

“So which is it? Real or fake?”

He works his jaw trying to find the words, the tips of his ears turning pink. Rey can’t help but smile. He’s cute when he’s nervous.

“I changed it two years ago,” he finally spits out after some exaggerated throat clearing. “To distance myself from my family. It’s legal now, so...it’s my name.”

“Thank you for the clarification.” She beams at him as she sips from her straw, reveling in the slight blush blooming on his cheeks. Her mind begins to drift to other ways she can cause him to blush. Other things she can turn a lovely shade of pink.

Alas, she sighs inwardly, it is not meant to be.

“Well, this is a right mess we’ve found ourselves in.” She takes a sip of her frappe, but the usually sweet carmel goodness tastes like ashes in her mouth.

“I would beg to differ.” He sets his cup down, banging his fist lightly on the table. “It’s kismet.”

“Really?” She scoffs. It’s such an absurd sentiment that she arches an eyebrow skeptically in response. “C’mon— _destiny_?”

“Consider the logistics, how often do you come to this particular coffee shop?”

“Pretty often since it’s right next to campus.”

“That’s what I thought. Me? I’ve never been here. I had a meeting that got cancelled, smelled the coffee as I went by, decided to walk in.” He claps his hands together. “ _Kismet_.”

She rolls her eyes at his argument. “That’s not kismet, that’s a _coincidence_.”

Kylo frowns, his teasing mood fading from his face. “You’re really not happy at all about seeing me, are you?”

“It’s not that,” she reassures him. The sad-puppy-look on his face pulls at her heartstrings. “I always like seeing you—during our sessions.” He winces slightly at her self-correction. “Seeing you on the outside? That...that complicates things. Rules are rules, and I don’t want to lose my job.”

“I see,” he nods, jaw working. “I didn’t think of that. In that case, I guess we’re just two people—“

“Strangers,” she clarifies.

“Two _strangers_ who happen to be sitting in a coffee shop. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more.”

Rey gives him a sharp nod, expecting him to take his leave, but he nonchalantly leans back in his chair while crossing his legs. Clearly, he’s going nowhere.

She pulls out her laptop “Well, I have a test to take, so...” 

“And I’ve got emails to get to.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

The exam doesn’t end up being much of a challenge, and Rey keeps finding her eyes wandering over the top of her screen to her tablemate in between questions. With him aptly distracted by his phone, she’s able to observe him in a more natural state. 

The first impression she gets is that he is loaded. The giant watch on his wrist is the first clue as she recognizes the brand name as costing at least a full year’s rent.

Secondly, with the way his phone keeps vibrating, he must be pretty high up in the corporate food chain. 

Third, he’s just good looking. Not in a conventional way, per se—his face is like human origami. But there’s an intensity about him, part deep-seated rage, part fragile vulnerability—with just a sprinkling of childlike curiosity. 

Without warning, his fist hits the table so hard that her laptop is bounces a good inch off the table. Ah. There’s the rage.

“Jesus!” 

“Sorry. It’s just...” He grits his teeth still looking at his phone. “Work is busy and—What?” He notices her scrutinizing gaze.

“This explains somuch.”

“Explains so much what?”

“Why you’re a frequent flyer at the...you know...” She makes a whip cracking sound while flicking her wrist. “You hate your job.”

“I don’t—I...” Kylo stops short, and she can practically see the puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind. “Ok, maybe a little.”

She leans forward, chin in hand. “But you’re a masochist, so you also secretly love it. Quite the double edged sword. Which explains why you don’t quit.”

“The reason I don’t quit,” he responds, turning in his chair to face her, his eyes hard and cold, “is because I’m under a contract. Iron-clad.” A stray strand of dark hair falls onto his forehead as he crosses his arms on the table, leaning close as though imparting a secret of the highest degree. “I’m a prisoner in a gilded cage.”

She lifts her chin. “We’re all living in cages with the door wide open.” 

He tilts his head to the side, considering her words. Rey sees his eyes soften before she ducks her head back behind her screen. “It’s just something I heard somewhere,” she mutters.

He hums thoughtfully. “Quite the insight from a stranger.”

Rey refuses to take the bait, keeping her eyes focused on the laptop, practically holding her breath until she hears him continue to tap at his phone. 

The sound of clacking keys and the whistle of steam is the only thing heard for quite some time.

 

* * *

 

“Let’s discuss limits.”

“Limits?” Kylo squints across the table. He’d spent the last half hour reading over non-disclosure agreements and signing various documents stating he wouldn’t sue The Facility for any bodily harm. He was suffering from a bit of brain fog due to all the leagalese.

She sighs with exasperation. “Soft limits are things you’re apprehensive about, but could possibly be open to doing with informed consent. Hard limits, on the other hand, you absolutely will not do, or rather,” she smirks slightly, “have done _to_ you.”

Kylo runs a hand through his hair. “I’m pretty open, I guess.”

“You ‘guess.’” She frowns, closing the file folder. “Well, are you RACK or SSC?”

His brow furrows as he purses his lips. “Uhmmm...”

She rubs her hand down her face. “You didn’t even google BDSM, did you?”

He smiles sheepishly and shakes his head.

“Amazing. Most people usually fall down a click hole after they peruse the website.” The chair scrapes loudly across the floor as she pushes back from the table. “No worries, I’ll just give you a crash course and we’ll move on from there.”

She leads him out of the room and up one flight of stairs. 

“RACK and SSC are acronyms for how people play,” she explains. “SSC stands Safe, Sane and Consensual. It relies mostly on predetermined set of limits that all parties have agreed to and will not from them at all.”

Kylo tried to file all this information in his brain as she takes a right down another nondescript ball. “RACK, on the other hand, means Risk-Aware Consensual Kink. It’s somewhat more fluid, anything goes type of play as long as all participants are aware of the risks.” She pauses in the hallway and Kylo has to stop short of nearly running her over. “Is this making any sense to you?” 

He nods an affirmative. Satisfied with his response, she makes another right.

“I prefer the RACK method myself,” she continues. “My boss puts it this way; a guy may come in here and say ‘there’s no way I want a finger up my butt.’ Cut to halfway through the scene, he’s begging for a finger up the butt. Maybe he was too embarrassed. Maybe the thought grew on him. RACK is more flexible with SSC. You merely check in, make sure this is what he wants, explain the risks involved and BAM!” She points a finger sharply up into the air. “Give em what they want, hmm?”

Kylo finds himself equal parts scared and turned on by her little lecture. He’s never thought he would be in the position of speaking on the ethics of sticking a finger in another human’s rectum, but this has been a day of firsts. However, her passion for what she does is palpable. He just hopes her walk is as good as her talk.

She takes another left, before stopping three doors down in front of a red door with the numbers 410 above a shiny silver knocker.

“Where are we?”

“This is my office.” She turns to him, smiling broadly, arms spread wide in welcome as she throws open the door. “You’re my guest.”

Trepidation crawls up his spine as he crosses the threshold. The room itself resembles a loft apartment with a small kitchenette flows into a bedroom setup with a queen-sized bed made with only a fitted sheet and chest of drawers is off to the side. It feels almost like a home, save for the giant wooden X against the far wall. 

Feeling completely out of his element, he looks back where the woman is still standing in the doorway observing him.

“Sit down. Relax.” 

“We’ll start out small and move on from there. Understood?”

He nods.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words. So let me ask again: _do you understand?”_

There’s that firm tone again, making his ears burn. “Yes.”

“Good.”

She rummages through a drawer, pulling out a wooden spoon. “Hmm. You would break this for sure. Definitely going to need something more sturdy.” 

Sweat begins to bead across his forehead as she continues to rummage through the drawers. He’s an idiot for listening to Poe. An idiot for filling out the application. He’s—

“Ok,” she exclaims. “I’ve narrowed it down to three contenders.”

He’s an idiot for this girl, of that there is no doubt.

“First up, wood. Zebrawood, specifically. Got this from a guy in Amsterdam, custom made. It’s medium density and quite hard. Leaves a lovely sting, I’m told.”

She twirls it with a flourish before tossing the striped implement onto the mattress.

“After that, we have polycarbonate.” The item she pulls out of a pouch reminds Kylo of a cheese grater. “The holes are pretty nasty and will leave a mark. It’s more flexible than wood, and less likely to break.” She slaps the paddle against her hand, making a thwacking sound that echoes through the room. “This particular one is made from the same stuff as bulletproof windows.”

“Last but not least, my favorite; leather.” There’s a glint of excitement in here eyes as she swirls around of the red and black tassels. “This particular flogger is known as ‘nasty shit’ because...” She glances at Kylo, and he can feel the blood draining from his face.. She clears her throats she places it back in the drawer. “Granted, that might be a little advanced for a first session.”

Moving her implements to the side, she sits down next to him. “Look, I know this can be overwhelming, and if you don’t want to do anything, we don’t have to. We could just...I dunno...” The mattress dips as she reclines back onto her elbows. “Just...talk?”

“That sounds like torture in and of itself.” His face scrunches up at the idea of just talking in this setting of whips, chains and handcuffs. He chuckles out loud at absurdity of it all.

“Oh, thank GOD,” she laughs along with him. “I am _shit_ at small talk.”

Kylo looks around the room, his gaze fixating on the wooden cross situated against the far wall. “Are you going to tie me up to that?”

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head vigorously. “No, no, no, no. You’re definitely not ready for the St. Andrew’s cross. Baby steps.”

She smiles at him, and her attitude is so infectious, he finds his nerves calming and himself grinning along. 

“Here’s the plan,” she slaps her hands on her thighs. “We’ll start over the clothes and if you feel comfortable with that, we’ll progress to more...advanced things.”

She crosses her arms, looking him up and down. “You’re ginormous, so over the knee is out of the question.” Kylo nods in agreement, silently laughing at the ridiculous mental image. “Kneel by the bed, lay your top half on the mattress.”

He prostrates himself as instructed, sparing only one look back to see her give him an encouraging nod.

“I’ll check in on you from time to time. If you’re doing ok, just say green. Yellow is for when you need a break and red is for stop right now. Got it?”

“Got it.” He gives her a thumbs up.

“Good. What kinda pain threshold do you have?”

“I would say it’s pretty hi—oof!” The sudden impact of her hand against his ass catches him off guard. A backwards glance finds her smirking.

“Pretty high, huh?”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” he grumbles, face pressed into the mattress.

“Heh.” She resumes her assault, each slap a little more intense. “I’m not much of a counter, unless that’s something you’re into. I’d rather just go with what feels right.”

“I have no idea what I’m into, so...”

“You’ll be my blank canvas to paint on then.” There’s a change in her voice as she smacks again, this time grabbing a handful of his cheek and squeezing. Kylo has to put his fist in his hand to keep from groaning.

She tugs at the waist of his pants. “I think these can come off, don’t you?”

Frantically he works at his belt buckle, quickly dropping trow.

“Think you’re ready for some bare skin action, hmm?” Her tone is different now. Her voice slithers into his ear, velvety soft, wrapping around his reptilian brain. As her fingernails scratch ever so lightly against his skin before ending in a stinging slap, endorphins are dumped into his bloodstream. Heat rushes to his face, chest, abdomen—and lower. 

There’s a brief reprieve and he swears he hears her mutter _time to move on before I break my hand._

He feels her move behind him. “This is definitely going to sting,” she warns.

The wooden paddle whooshes through the air before landing with a loud whack, hot pain blooming in its wake.

“I like the way you take it,” she croons. “The subtle twitches. You don’t have to hold anything back here.” A shiver runs through him as she traces the paddle along the back of his thigh. 

“You don’t need to hurt yourself anymore. No more self-inflicted injuries. Understood?”

The paddle hits again, harder. She leans down, her breath hot on his ear.

“No one gets to hurt you but me.”

 

For the next few days, he has to gingerly lower himself into a seated position. When his colleagues voice their concerns, he explains it’s from a weekend of biking through bumpy terrain. 

The truth of the matter is that every time he feels the slightest bit of pain from his “appointment,” he sees her, standing above him, face glistening with sweat, hair slightly array. Beautiful.

 

* * *

 

“Welp, that’s the end of that semester.” Rey closes her laptop to find Kylo still typing furiously on his phone. 

“Congratulations,” he says as he locks the phone and sticks it back inside his suit jacket. “Any plans to celebrate?” 

_Oh, I could think of a few ways._

“Probably drinks with friends,” she offers. “Nothing too crazy.”

“I see.” He taps the table repeatedly with his fingers, sucking in his lips as though there’s something more he wants to say. For a second, Rey hopes he will. She slides her laptop into her bag, hoping he’ll ask to see her again, maybe take her out for dinner. They’d talk and they’d laugh. She knows he  would just get her. And later he’d have her for dessert.

She hopes so hard her heart aches at this futile fantasy.

“I better be going,” she finally sighs.

“Me too.”

At the same time, they both stand and make their way to the exit. She gives him a polite smile as he holds the door open for her. They linger outside the entrance, neither one seeming to be in as much of a hurry as they previously let on.

Rey squints up into the bright afternoon sky. She should be thinking about catching the next train, about texting Rose to make plans for dinner. But all she can think about is _him_. The way his jaw works when he’s unnerved. The warmth in his eyes when he smiles. His face, wet with tears after she’s broken him.

This can’t happen.

“Well, until next time.” Fiddling with the strap of her bag, she gives him a half-grin.

“Until next time.” He spares her a small, sad smile before turning to walk away.

_It’s nothing new,_ that small voice in her head says.

_Everyone leaves you._

A feeling overtakes her, and she finds herself grabbing him by the arm pulling him into the alley next to the cafe. Pushing him up against the side of the building, her fingers grasp his lapels, bringing his surprised face down to her before their lips crush together. 

The kiss is electric, setting every nerve ending in her body on fire. The sensation increases exponentially as Kylo returns the sentiment in kind. His lips opening to welcome her searching tongue. His hand sliding up the nape of her neck. Warm  desire swirls at the apex of her thighs as she grinds against his leg.

_What am I doing?_

”I’m sorry,” she breathes, pushing away from him, completely mortified by her actions. “I shouldn’t have. I just—I wanted...” She blanches, embarrassed and reduced to a stuttering fool.

He lifts up her chin, his eyes wild and dark.

“There’s no shame in wanting.”

Hearing her words echoed back through his lips, she’s immediately flush against him, hands tangled in his hair as he grabs at her waist, their mouths crashing together in desperate need and want. She closes her eyes as he licks and sucks greedily at her neck and she swears she can see fireworks behind her eyelids. 

Gathering what little composure she has left, she brings her lips up to his ear. “We need to go somewhere or I’m going to fuck you right in this alley.”

“My place is two blocks away.”

_Maybe this really is kismet_ , she thinks as he grabs her hand, pulling her through the lunch hour crowd. For every long stride he takes she has to practically jog to keep up as her dress billows out behind her. They weave through the people, stopping just long enough to obey the crosswalk signal, before arriving at a tall building with a black awning.

They barrel through the lobby like a hurricane straight to the silver shine of the elevator doors. The ride is extremely fast and practically pushes her out once they reach his floor.

With a quick jangle of his keys, he holds open the door for her. Crossing the threshold, she shrugs off her hoodie, placing it delicately on a hook in the foyer.

His place is overwhelming. It’s straight out of those home reno shows she and Rose like to binge on a lazy Sunday morning. There’s nothing ‘before’ about this place. No, this is the ‘we-pumped in-thousands-of dollars-on-the-marble-countertop-alone after.’ She’s suddenly paralyzed with doubt. Any moment now, he’ll come to his senses, realizing that this is all one big mistake.

One glance back is enough to sate her fears. The look on his face is filled with such awe, and it is all for her.

She blushes, turning to the wall of windows that flood the apartment with natural light. She’s never felt so nervous. So unsure of herself. So vulnerable. 

“This isn’t...something I do,” she blurts.

“Me either.”

She can hear him removing his jacket, taking off that horribly expensive watch, possibly setting it on the side table by the door. She doesn’t turn back to check, she’s too mesmerized by the view of the vast expanse of the city below. She can see _everything_ from here; the little coffee shop, the entire university campus. If she squints hard enough, she can make out her apartment building just on the horizon. It is so tiny in comparison to this penthouse. She looks around, wondering where the bedroom might be. 

“End of the hall,” he responds to her unspoken question.

It’s eerie how in sync they are, how she moves down the hall as if pulled by a string.

Opening the door, she stifles a gasp. It’s an expansive bedroom, which could easily hold her entire apartment. The bed is massive, decorated in greys and blacks. No surprise, really, given what she’s been exposed to in terms of his wardrobe.

Turning around, she finds him standing in the doorway, staring at her. The same look he had before in the alleyway.

“I’m not...keeping you from anything, am I?” She silently curses herself for sounding so goddamn timid.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” he says, loosening his tie. “Nothing that’s important.”

“This can only happen once.” It’s an ultimatum she has to throw out there. One they both need to recognize.

She watches his throat bob as he swallows and nods his head.

“Alright.”

Slipping a single finger under one shoulder strap, she pulls out one arm, and then the other. The dress falls, the grey blue fabric fluttering to the floor, and she watches his face as he reacts to the fact that she is braless. Eyes wide, the muscles in his jaw twitch as she steps out of the fabric and moves in front of him.

“I’ve thought about this so many times.” His voice is barely above a whisper,  hands hovering hesitantly just over her breasts. “Wondered what it would be like to touch you.”

Fear is reflected in his eyes, as though this is just a dream and none of this is real, that she’ll disappear if he gets too close.

“Then do it.” Her chest thrusts forward into his waiting grasp, reassuring him that she is very much here.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Even better than I imagined.”

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as his fingernails graze her nipples cautiously before pinching and rolling them as they harden into peaks. 

“And what did you imagine?” She can wager a guess, but she needs to hear him say it, to speak it into reality. 

“How your skin would feel.” He meets her gaze, eyes dark and hungry. “What you would taste like. What my name would sound like as it rolled off your tongue when you came.”

“For how long?”

“From the first moment you walked through that door,” he rasps, “I’ve wanted you.”

Slowly, he lowers his face to her breast, taking nearly the entire thing into his mouth, tongue swirling around her now extremely sensitive nipple.

She sighs at the sensation, but small voice in her mind wants to call it all lies. After all, a man will say anything to get a piece of ass, and Rey’s heard it all before. But she searches his face and she can’t find the lie in his eyes blown black with desire. She can’t discern any deceit in his parted lips. 

He means every word.

“I’ve imagined you, too,” she breathes into his hair. He pulls back from her chest, eyes wide with surprise. _What a pair we are_ , she thinks as she slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. _Both of us with the same fantasy, but thinking it impossible._

He shrugs off his shirt, tossing it across the room without a care to where it lands. Her hands splay across his massive chest as she plants kisses on the scar, the beautiful mark she gave him. Slowly, she makes her way up to his neck, nuzzling at his pulse point as he lets out a ragged breath. Her fingers entwine in his hair, pulling hard so his head is jerked back, exposing his neck. 

She knows that in that moment he will do anything she asks of him.

The power has shifted. She’s in control now.

“On your knees,” she orders. He complies with an eagerness that only serves to stoke the fire in her belly.

He looks up, as though asking for permission. It’s absolutely adorable and she answers with a roll of her hips. His fingers creep slowly up her thighs to hook onto the waistband of her panties, carefully and meticulously pulling them down. _He probably unwraps his presents the same way_ , she muses, _finding the seam in the wrapping instead of just ripping them open._

With all of her revealed, Kylo seems mesmerized. “Even better than I imagined,” he murmurs into her thigh.

A small kiss is placed on her inner leg as he moves in slowly until she can feel the heat of his breath on her pussy. Frenzied to the point of near spontaneous combustion, Rey runs her hands through his hair to the back of his skull, urging him forward. He gazes up at her, face full of gratitude, before diving between her legs.

He laps at her wetness like a man lost in the desert for days, delirious and crazed with thirst. 

In one swift movement, he hitches her leg over his shoulder, opening her even wider, allowing him to go even deeper. Rey goes off balance for a millisecond before his hand is there, broad across her back in support.

He inserts a finger knuckle-deep, and then another as his tongue swirls around her clit.

Her toes are barely scrapping the floor and she she has the sensation of simultaneously floating and falling. She digs her nails hard into his skin for leverage and pulls a growl from him that reverberates throughout her cunt. She shudders as he increases the pace tenfold, fingers hooking to massage her deep, spongy spot while sucking at her sensitive bud.

The pleasure builds and builds, undulating as he relentlessly pumps his fingers into her. Finally, the orgasm flows through her. A strangled cry escapes her lips as she clenches and jerks around his hand before going limp in his grasp.

 

Rey feels Kylo lift her up into a bridal carry, walking across the room and carefully placing her onto his bed. Turning her head, she can see the hard length of him bulging through his pants. 

“I need...”

“Shh.” His hands are busy at his belt buckle.

“I know what you need, sweetheart.”

“Kylo...”

“Ben.”

She blinks, looking up at him. “What?”

“My name is Ben. Call me Ben.” He stills above her with just the slightest tint of fear on his face. In that moment, she realizes he’s throwing off his mask. He wants her to see everything he has. Everything he is.

Tears threaten to fall from her eyes. It’s like looking in a mirror.

“Ben...please.” He leans down and she caresses his cheek. He turns his head to kiss her palm.

“Anything for you,” he whispers.

“Give me everything.”

The pants come down, and though she’s seen him naked, she’s never seen him like this; huge, hard and throbbing.

_I did this to him_ , she thinks.

“I have a condom somewhere...”

“I have an IUD, and I’m clean.” Reaching out, she grasps him gently, squeezing ever so slightly.

“MmmI’m clean too,” he moans as her hand moves slowly up his shaft, stopping at the head where her thumb circles the tip.

“Then fuck me, Ben.”

Climbing on the bed, he positions himself above her. His jaw works in concentration, eyes wide with fear. _He thinks he’s going to hurt me._ She nearly laughs out loud.

He pushes himself into her slowly, cautiously. “Is this ok?” 

“Ben,” Rey sighs.

“Yeah?” 

Reaching up, grabbing his shoulders, she smashes her mouth to his, her tongue  pushing through past his teeth to swirl with his. He winces as she tears into the flesh of his plush lip, the metallic taste of his blood on her tongue. Ripping herself away, she cups her hands around his face, looking him square in the eye.

“Don’t you dare be gentle.”

A thin trail of blood runs down his chin as he smiles.

“Anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So this chapter was super long, huh? 😬
> 
> “Cold hot chocolate” is actually on of the least annoying Starbucks orders
> 
> “We’re all living in cages with the door wide open.” is a quote often attributed to George Lucas, but I wasn’t able to find the direct source.
> 
>  
> 
> Zebrawood paddle
> 
>  
> 
> Bulletproof paddle
> 
>  
> 
> ”Nasty shit”
> 
>  
> 
> Saint Andrew’s Cross

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter or even on tumblr.


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